Slipping
by Countess Impossible
Summary: Snapshots of what Dean was going through while he thought Sam was in the Cage. Can he live while Sam is gone? More importantly, does he want to?


_While listening to Bother by Stone Sour I realized how fitting it was for Dean. That is what lead to this so blame Cory Taylor. Also, the format is based off what Chuck Palahniuk did for Fight Club. He said he wanted to write a book with the important scenes only. That is what this is. Instead of telling about everything that happened during Dean's year with out Sam, these are only the important parts._

_Rated T for thinking about suicide, just to be safe._

_Still with me? Excellent! Well, enjoy!_

...

Nightmares plagued Dean. Anytime he closed his eyes memories were there to haunt him. Memories of all of the stupid fights he had with his brother over the years, memories of his time in Hell, of the Apocalypse, and of Sam.

It had been less than two months since Sam had jumped into the Cage with Lucifer and there were times when he wished it had been him instead. Anything to have Sam walking around topside.

With out his brother, Dean may as well be dead anyway.

Lisa had taken him in- though he had no idea why. He was a broken man standing on the edge. All it would take is the slightest touch to send him over.

Living a lie was what did it. He was not meant to be domestic. He was a warrior. A hunter. His place was on the road hunting all of the monsters that lurk in the dark, not here in a real home complete with a child. This is what tore Dean apart. Caught between what he knew he had to do and the promise he had made Sam about getting out of the life.

Dean was his own worst enemy.

It never mattered what anyone else had said about what happened in the world not being his fault. When it came to Sam, everything was Dean's fault. It was the consequence of making the vow as a child of protecting his baby brother no matter what- the things that Sam did ultimately fell on his shoulders instead.

And it was all his fault. All of it. Everything.

If he hadn't had shown up in the middle of the night at Stanford they would never had gone on that hunt and none of this would have started. Sam would be alive somewhere with Jessica and living the life of a successful lawyer.

He knew none of that was true but it repeated itself like a mantra.

If Dad would have let him die in the hospital than both Sam and his father would be alive.

If he would have never broken down and agreed to torture souls in Hell with Alister.

If he would have said yes to Michael.

So many other reasons bounced around his head as to why all of this was his fault. If he had done this differently or had not done that at all, Sam would still be alive.

Dean made himself sick with the constant self hate. It took everything he had left not to pull the trigger that would send him right back down to the Pit where he belonged.

That was the push that spiraled down into a deep depression that he had no chance of ever climbing out of. Like quicksand, the harder he fought the faster he sank.

...

Dean wished he could talk to someone about everything that he had done in his messed up life but knew that it would only send him back to the nut hut. Lisa kept trying to get him to open up to her but he knew he could never go into detail about what he had done.

He couldn't allow her to know about the monster that he was.

Instead he did what he always did. He drowned everything with alcohol until there was nothing left but a shell of what he used to be.

A shell of a shell.

...

"This is all of your fault, you sonofabitch!" Dean slurred, throwing the empty bottle of whisky.

"If you would have just nut up and been there none of this would have happened!" Dean screamed at the ceiling. At the absent God he knew wasn't listening to him.

Lisa tried to calm him, saying that it did no good to blame Sam, but Dean was far too gone to hear anything other than the rushing of blood in his ears and the pounding of his heart.

He sunk to the floor in sobs that shook his whole body and broke Lisa's heart.

...

Dean knew that Lisa should have kicked him out and never looked back- he wouldn't blame her if she did- but for some reason she didn't do it. She allowed him to stay in her home and in her bed.

He didn't deserve any of this. Not the acceptance, not the love, or the roof over his head. He deserved nothing at all for all of the despicable things he had done in his pathetic excuse for a life.

He deserved nothing less than to go right back to the Rack and be tortured for the rest of eternity.

How many mornings has he looked at the bullet he kept close by and thought 'This is the day I'm going to do it. End it all'? The way he saw it, God was gone and both Heaven and Hell hated him. He figured that the odds of coming back were slim to none now that the purpose he was meant to serve had blown up.

What did he have to live for?

"You promised Sam you would go on with out him."

That was the only thing that kept him going.

...

Since the day he lost Sam, Dean prayed to Castiel every night. He didn't know why he did it- there was never any answer- but he still he prayed.

He prayed for Sam. He prayed for Bobby. He prayed for guidance. Nothing.

Castiel had just been another thing that had slipped through his fingers like water.

Still he prayed, alternating between trying to talk Cas into coming down, insults and empty threats, to begging the angel that had once been his brother for forgiveness.

Not a word.

Never the rustle of a feather.

And still he prayed.

...

Six months.

Sam had been gone six whole months.

The shell of a man he had become had turned into something not eve he could name.

It was raw.

Animalistic at times.

It was pain and suffering coming out of him in a way that he had no words for. If he were a ghost he would have called it going dark side.

He's shut down. Nothing matters. He no longer cares.

He works in construction to have something to do with his hands. Every tool he comes into contact with makes him think of his old life. What creatures he could kill with it. How it could be used for torturing damned souls.

He thinks of Alister often and of all of the things he had been taught by the demon.

He knew it was a dangerous road to be on.

He just doesn't care.

...

Lisa's scared. She knows Dean would never hurt her but what he has become is something she can not afford to not be cautious around.

At night, when Dean thinks she is asleep, he tells her things. Snippets of his past and of things he had done. It's in whispers, his tone flat as if those who had died by his hand did not still plaque him but she knows better. He still screams in his sleep.

Calling out Sam's name. Calling for someone called Cas.

She doesn't say anything. Keeps her mouth shut and plays dumb in fear that one wrong word will awaken the beast she knows is sleeping just under the surface.

Lisa has to think of Ben. She has to keep her son safe even if he is oblivious to the monster within.

So she acts as if nothing is wrong with Dean. That he is still the man that she had met all of those years ago.

She tried to pretend that Dean was the old Dean and prayed that he never found out she knew what she knew.

...

Eight months.

Almost a year.

Dean has accepted that Sam wasn't coming back and things had gotten easier. The beast still lived inside of him but it was sleeping. Hibernating.

Some days he almost felt human again.

Lisa wasn't walking on eggshells around him anymore, something he was surprised to find that he cared about. He never wanted her to be afraid of him.

Every night after Lisa had fallen asleep Dean still prayed to Castiel. It did not matter that the angel was still silent. He found himself telling Castiel everything- all of the monsters they had faced, his Dad, his Mom, Sam, Cassie, everything. He even found himself laughing at some of the memories he shared.

He had been telling Castiel snippets of things all eight months but now he went into detail. Telling the angel everything he could remember. It felt better to vent. He felt as if some of the weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

...

Dean and Lisa fight. Screaming matches that invoke the hunter that Dean still was. It didn't matter that he had gone domestic he would never stop being what he was. A warrior.

His hands itched to kill something. To be covered in someone elses blood. To dig up a grave and salt and burn someones bones. To hunt.

Bobby was right. There was no leaving the life.

Dean started cleaning all of the weapons in his arsenal and repacking the Impala for the hunt he knew he would never go on.

Another fight.

Dean's drinking just to drink. There is no more pain to to block.

Another fight.

Ben wants to learn to shoot.

Another fight.

Maybe he couldn't live again after all.

...

Everything is mechanical. There is no more passion in Dean's life. No spark that invoked any real feeling.

Get up, go to work, come home with Ben and Lisa, go to bed.

Even sex was mechanical.

He still thought about ending it all. He had given the apple pie life a try just as Sam had wanted, didn't that count for anything?

"He would hate you for taking the cowards way out."

It was too late. Dean's been dead for almost a year anyway.

...

One night while praying to Castiel, Dean tried to count how many times he had come close to Death. He quit trying when the number reached fifty. So many times he could have died, so many chances to go to Heaven with his mother. So many chances to go back to Hell with his father.

Sam could have lived if any of them would have happened.

Why did Castiel have to pull him out of the Pit? Why couldn't he pull Sam out of the Cage?

Why did he have to be alone?

For the first time in months, he cried himself to sleep.

...

Sam's been gone for a year.

Had it only been one? It felt as if a hundred years had passed but he could remember every detail of Stull Cemetary as if it had happened yesterday. Everything in sharp detail.

Was this his punishment? Would it be like this for the rest of his life? A zombie? Broken? Dead.

...

Dean is seeing things. Sulfer everywhere. Puddles of blood in the grass. Claw marks on doors and gates.

This is what he needed. The thrill of a possible job makes him feel more alive than he had felt all year.

The 1911 Colt feels like home in his hand. The weight comforting.

Stalking around the neighborhood for the demon feels right. It's what he was meant to do- not construction. This is what would keep him alive.

It did not matter that the demon turned out ot be a Yorke, Dean needed more. It was like seeing the light after living in the dark. The first gulp of air after thinking you were going to drown. A junkie with his fix.

He couldn't remember being happier.

...

Dean was in the garage when it happened.

Alister had him shoved against the shelves full of paint and other tools. Their faces inches apart as the demon stared him in the eye.

"It's time to go back to the Rack, Dean."

All he can think is, 'where were you yesterday?'

Then Alister was gone, replaced by Sam who was shaking him and saying something about being poisoned.

He didn't care if he had been poisoned. He had Sammy back and that's all that mattered.

Hugging his brother was better than anything that had happened during his fake hunt. It was like... when he realized he was alive after Castiel had saved him from hell.

"Are you real?" He had to ask.

Sam just laughed, the noise music to Dean's ears. "As real as they come."

Dean could feel the blood rushing though his veins, his heart beating under his ribs, his skin flushing with happiness. Life.

Sam.

Dean was finally alive.


End file.
